


On chivalry and other frenzies

by Sheriarty



Series: Blank Spaces [10]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: A+ Top Dog Behavior, A/B/O, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Arthur calm down jeez, Cobb has playground duty as always, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, POV Ariadne, Protectiveness, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26481853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheriarty/pseuds/Sheriarty
Summary: Arthur hisses a “What are you doing here?” and tries to – yup – herd Eames backwards out of the office again like a shepherd his flock. Eames, the absolute unit he is, of course doesn’t bulge an inch, just looking at Arthur with a slight frown._____A two series story about our favorite bonded pair encountering yet another obstacle in their relationship. This is going to be a split series, the first in Ariadne's POV, the second mostly in Arthur's POV.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Series: Blank Spaces [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1509056
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	1. 1

## On chivalry and other frenzies

It has been a few weeks since she last saw Arthur, Eames and Cobb and although she does remember how weird the trio can act sometimes (especially the first few times after the Fisher job.. Eames had been _pissed_ about the whole thing and Ariadne hadn’t had the opportunity yet to see Eames acting out a grudge. Before, she had thought being on Arthur’s shit list was bad, but oh boy). She apparently forgot how weird a beta, alpha and omega sandwich could get. Or maybe she just tried to suppress the memory. Wouldn’t surprise her, one developed a habit of tuning out Cobb, ignoring Eames’ shenanigans and trying not to get whiplash from Arthur.

* * *

Now, she is sitting by her sketching table, not even trying to hide how she is watching, with slightly amused attention, how Arthur is in the process of striding through the room towards where Eames is entering.

He hisses a “What are you _doing_ here?” and tries to – yup – herd Eames backwards out of the office again like a shepherd his flock. Eames, the absolute unit he is, of course doesn’t bulge an inch, just looking at Arthur with a slight frown. Although Ariadne is pretty sure Arthur is a) not trying all that hard (she knows he could move Eames if he really wanted) and b) that it’s probably more some kind of power thing again with the two.

But the alpha does look slightly guilty and a little uncomfortable, if Ariadne has to guess. Cobb, meddling as always, steps towards them with a resolute expression on his woeful face, as if it’s his holy duty to butt in, even if no one in the room asks him to. Didn’t he ever learn not to go between fighting dogs? Ariadne guesses he will never stop thinking he has some kind of responsibility for Arthur.

Their chemist, Sharim, is working in his little nook by the window, dark eyes concentrated on his laptop, not even looking up to see what the ruckus is about. Ariadne can’t fathom how some people can be so disinterested about their environment (no, she is not nosy).

Ariadne hasn’t spoken much to him yet, besides the polite introduction yesterday. She was slightly taken aback by the rather quiet and subdued omega. It’s the second male she ever encountered and it’s strange that it’s again in this business. Does it attract male omegas? He is surprisingly quiet for one – she thinks. They’re usually louder – not necessarily in noise, but in... General appearance. She wonders if that has anything to do with Arthur’s presence.

But he hasn’t shown any aggression directly against Sharim and Ariadne knows Arthur’s tense mood can’t be because of the fact that they have another omega on board – they worked a job with Zimmermann before and she was an omega (and what a bomb of one).

“’Morning, Cobb,” Eames greets him tersely, trying to gently brush off Arthur’s hand by his upper arm, where he is obviously still trying to subtly push Eames out of the door. Or just touch him. Aggressively.

“You said you’re sitting this one _out_ -“ Arthur grunts, or at least Ariadne thinks that’s what he says, because he is keeping his voice down, jerking a little when Cobb puts a hand onto his shoulder from behind and squeezes lightly.

“Hey, Eames. Nice of you to come by? I didn’t expect you,” Cobb offers, voice demonstratively calm and casual, even though he is quick to drop the hand when Eames’ eyes zero in on it and narrow. He still seems to remember how Eames sucker punched him in front of the whole team in greeting on their first job after incepting Fisher, knocking him out for a solid minute. The air between them is still tense, but not charged. Ariadne gets the feeling Eames just wants to show Cobb that he may be forgiven but that thing will never be forgotten and Cobb, for lack of options, accepts it.

“I was asked to,” Eames replies with a winning smile then and a shrug, before managing to slip out from under Arthur’s grip and then stride towards Ariadne.

She knows there is no reason to feel guilty, but part of her does, because _she_ is the one that asked him to come by and say hello. If she’d known it’d cause such a scene, she might have reconsidered. Ariadne smiles towards Eames approaching her, even though she can feel two pairs of eyes on her, the atmosphere in the room weirdly… frizzling.

Her attention wanders to where Arthur is bristling after his alpha, Cobb rubbing the back of his neck with a put-upon expression, while Eames makes his way over to her.

“Hey, duck,” Eames greets her, eyes crinkling and soft and Ariadne immediately feels a little less agitated, smiling back as she gets up to hug the alpha. She grins, closing her eyes briefly, when she hears him chuckle into her hair. She missed him. He gives the best hugs.

She pulls back and startles, because Arthur’s face is hovering over Eames’ shoulder, and really, how does he _moves_ without making any noise? Frickin’ ninja.

“ _You_ called him?” Arthur accuses, sounding as if she personally offended his wedding flower arrangements and she blinks at his tone, frowning.

Eames gives Arthur a sideway look, lifting a brow at him. Arthur seems to contemplate whether to bristle or not, but deflates a little then, exhaling through his nose and dropping the angry expression to give her a mildly apologetic look instead. She really has no idea what got Arthur’s pants in a twist, but at least now she is sure it has, like always, to do with Eames.

“Well, yeah, I wanted to see him and I knew Eames’d be here anyway when you are,” she explains with a shrug, “Why aren’t you forging for us this time?” she turns to Eames.

They have a guy named Marianne doing the forging – trailing their mark’s affair, this very moment. Ariadne doesn’t know much about him beside the fact that he’s younger than her and has longer lashes. Oh, and thick dark hair she would kill for. He is, apparently, a decent forger (and a little too much into Linkin Park, for her taste) according to Cobb.

Eames’ eyes flicker over her shoulder briefly and back to her and something about his smile seems off then. Ariadne can practically hear Arthur’s fingernails curling into the fabric of Eames’ jacket, where he is resting his hand on his lower back, possessive in a way she hasn’t seen him act in a long time. What’s the _matter_ with them? The hair on the nape of her neck stand up. She feels a little like stroking a cat’s belly and waiting for it to snap and maim her hand.

“I’m sitting this one out, luv, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to meet up, could I? We should go out for drinks,” he offers, generously ignoring the sharp intake of breath to his left, Arthur’s attention suddenly razor sharp on something behind her. From the angle of his gaze – (Ariadne, having no shits to give anymore, turns to follow his look) and yup, Sharim has just straightened from his chair. He takes a package of cigarettes, before leaving the desk to go to the balcony for a smoke.

“What’s going on?” she wants to know then, crossing her arms and giving them a look. Arthur, whose eyes have been lingering a moment longer, curls his nose and huffs then, before stepping back, straightening one of his cufflinks with a “Nothing,” and making his way back to his own desk, but not before squeezing Eames’ arm and briefly leaning into him from behind. Ariadne would coo about the scenting moment to piss him off, if it wouldn’t look so tense and anything _but_ affectionate.

Cobb, who has silently migrated back to his own working area, is brooding over his black board, but Ariadne can see him using the reflection of the screen next to him to keep tabs on what’s going on behind his back. He still thinks he is their weary babysitter, doesn’t he?

Ariadne gives Eames another look, because normally at least Eames indulges her in these strange situations. He knows how much it frustrates her to be left out, not just as a beta, but as a friend. But this time he just looks at her apologetically.

“So, tell me about your designs. And tonight, drinks?” he changes the topic without even trying to appear subtle about it. She pouts and narrows her eyes, but then sighs and nods. She knows it’s no use to prod when they don’t want to share – She will find out sooner or later.

* * *

It’s nice to just go out for drinks (sadly without Yusuf this time) and enjoy the company and get an update on what’s going on in their lives. They don’t see each other nearly enough and Ariadne misses them more often than not.

Eames and Arthur bicker about where they live (apparently they have apartments both in London and L.A. and neither of them want to settle on where exactly their ‘real home’ is).

Cobb uses every opportunity he has to show them pictures of videos of his kids doing mundane things and being excited about it (like using a hammer or read a sentence from a magazine on the table – Ariadne will never understand the excitement of parents about their children doing everyday stuff, but it’s cute to see some spark in Cobb’s eyes).

Several drinks later, Eames tells them about ‘that time I stole the PASIV prototype from Colonel Crawford and turned this military suicide program into a niche job for all of you’ to make them all laugh (Cobb calls bullshit on it, while Arthur smiles privately into his drink next to him and Ariadne knows it’s true).

She updates them on her internship she just finished and Stephen’s (yes, they are on first name basis by now and she definitely did a little victory dance about it already) offer to start on her doctorate with him as her mentor. Arthur congratulates her, jabbing Eames with his elbow when the alpha says he can spare her the trouble and just forge a doctorate for her.

“What? I did it for Cobb,” Eames gestures to the blonde, who blinks, while Ariadne and Arthur both throw him shocked looks.

“Don’t look like that. That’s not true,” he reassures them with a squinted glare to Eames, who snorts and shrugs, “But they both immediately bought it,” laughing, when Arthur mumbles into his drink: “Wouldn’t have surprised me”.

Giggling into her drink, Ariadne feels a camaraderie she didn’t know she missed so deeply in her bones. When you pull off the impossible as a team, it ties you together in a way that cannot be untangled again, she guesses. Maybe this is how a pack feels like. She notices absentmindedly that both Arthur and Eames seem okay. Sitting close, but not hovering, touching like they always do, but not to demonstrate anything to anyone – little of the tension left from this morning. So, she figures, whatever it was that had them both act so weird, it has to do with their chemist.

* * *

“I’m sorry, guys, but I’m out”.

Cobb is kicking against his chair and cursing after Marianne for being a careless stupid _imbecile_ , while Arthur fumes over his desk, not looking up from where he is staring down at his notes, a tick in his clenched jaw. Ariadne bites her lip thoughtfully, eyes flickering over to Sharim.

Well, now that their forger has abandoned them (after their mark noticed him tailing them and obviously knows his face now, Marianne had gotten cold feet. Ariadne understands, on a certain level – who wants one of the top managers of the big four knowing your face when you’re about to dream-heist them, right?), there is only one very logical and very easy solution to their problem. Ariadne is pretty sure everyone in the room, including the decorative plastic plants, know it.

Cobb combs a hand through his shaggy blonde hair, sighing and tipping his head up to stare at the ceiling briefly, dramatic as always, before turning to look at Sharim. The omega looks back evenly, dark eyes as uninterested as usual. Ariadne wonders if he has any other expression besides -frankly, I don’t care-.

“You’re okay, when I get him on?” Cobb asks him and Ariadne’s hackles rise, but not on her own account. Arthur has gone very still next to her and she trusts her instincts telling her she is suddenly sitting far too close to a time bomb about to go off. She very purposefully keeps her breathing shallow and doesn’t move.

“I don’t care,” Sharim offers, (what a surprise) eyes wandering back to his conical flasks, dismissing them. Cobb slowly turns to Arthur then, sucking on his bottom lip briefly, before tentatively addressing the other omega, “Ar-“

He doesn’t get to finish the name. Arthur shoots out of his chair abrupt enough to make Ariadne jump in her own seat. He and Cobb look at each other silently for two heartbeats, before Arthur demonstratively walks towards the balcony door, shoulders drawn up and hands curled into fists. The blonde beta heaves a long suffering sigh and turns to follow him out.

Ariadne is putting her money on Arthur and wonders if they will have to come up with an explanation for a Cobb-shaped puddle on the ground of the skyscraper.

When they come back twenty minutes later (the sneaky bastards had turned around the corner away from the glass front, so Ariadne hadn’t been able to watch them), Arthur looks like he wants to murder everyone in this room with his bare hands and is a hairbreadth away from starting with Cobb. But whatever the beta said, Arthur must have, in the end, agreed, because Cobb announces that Eames is going to take Marianne’s place.


	2. Chapter 2

Things do not exactly improve from there. The moment Eames comes into the job, the tension grows thick enough that Ariadne swears she could cut it with a knife every morning she walks in.

Arthur, who is always sharp and has a strictly no-bullshit philosophy while working, is going to new levels of dickish behavior, even in Ariadne’s eyes. It’s like the Fisher job all over again, only this time it’s not just Eames getting the full brunt of Arthur’s wrath, but all of them. She liked it better when Eames was the boogie man in Arthur’s psycho fairytale.

She isn’t used to cower under Arthur anymore, because they’re _friends_ , but when she fucks up a secret tunnel construction and it crumbles down onto them in a test run, she gets an Arthur-like verbal punch in the face. He chews her out so viciously (before she is even done waking up) that she rips the IV out of her wrist and shoots to her feet, snapping back: “Get your fucking _shit_ together, Arthur!” before stalking out of the room (fleeing the room, if she is honest, because she still isn’t used to fucking dying being crushed by a building just to wake up being _shouted_ at).

* * *

Cobb finds her in the private cafeteria of their floor a little while later. He doesn’t immediately approach her by the window, instead turning on the coffeemaker for them and leaving her time to collect herself. She’s grateful for it.

He comes over then, offering her a mug of fresh coffee and a small smile. His eyes are tired, less sad than the first time they met, but there is this bone deep exhaustion in the corners that will probably never go away again.

She sighs and takes the mug, briefly looking at the company logo on the white porcelain. She flicks her hair over her shoulder and exhales again, a little more frustrated this time.

“What the hell is going on with them this time?” she wants to know, taking a tentative sip of the coffee and grimacing because of the lack of sugar. She knows she might be a little unfair, because it’s not like the two aren’t being as professional as always and they had worked a handful of very successful jobs together without any kind of trouble, but she’s still testy from being reprimanded like that in front of everyone and losing her own cool about it.

Cobb hums, drinking his own coffee black and looking out of the window over the skyline of Charlotte. The KPMG Tower is beautiful and Ariadne knows the big four are going to lynch them without mercy when they fuck this job up. With the way everyone is at each other’s throat as soon as someone so much as breaths wrong, it is becoming a far too likely reality. She grabs her mug a little tighter and sets her jaw.

“Feels like a deja-vu,” Cobb murmurs then and shoots her a smirk, eyes dancing in mirth, lips around the edge of the mug.

She snorts and rolls her eyes, “I would have shit myself for snapping at Arthur like that back then,” she replies and they both grin, Cobb lifting a brow at her, “You did run off pretty quickly just now”.

“Fuck off,” she smiles and takes another sip of her disgusting un-sweetened coffee and they both fall silent for a few minutes, watching the city under them, everything under construction, grey and black and gleaming glass in the afternoon sun.

“I don’t know,” Cobb breaks the silence then and Ariadne looks up at him in surprise. Cobb always knows everyone’s deal, at least Ariadne always assumed that. “Obviously it got something to do with Sharim, but Arthur wouldn’t tell me what,” he admits, frowning a little. He isn’t exactly unhappy, she thinks, that Arthur is keeping something from him. He doesn’t snoop and he respects people’s privacy. But he’s not happy that it might affect the job. She does respect privacy, too – but she also wants her friends to be happy and sometimes you have to negotiate between them.

* * *

Whatever it is that has Arthur so on edge, Eames isn’t much better. Contrary to the omega, who is basically a tightly coiled spring with razor sharp edges jumping directly into your eyes, Eames seems subdued, in a way, which is disturbing on a different level. Like a decomposing… peach, maybe. Ariadne is used to laughing a lot more with Eames on the team, with lots of jokes and stories, lots of late night working together, lots of hugs – just more color. There isn’t much to laugh with him these days.

Eames keeps to himself, quieter than usual, working reposefully on his forging and letting Arthur manhandle him around. Not that he usually doesn’t let his omega manhandle him about (Ariadne is pretty sure that’s some weird power play), but usually it’s with a fondness in his eyes and a joke on his lips that speaks ages of how much he adores it when Arthur does basically anything. They can be so tooth rottening adorable together that Ariadne fears getting diabetics sometimes.

Now, Eames just seems tired of working against the tide, letting Arthur pull and push him like an empty bottle on the shore. When there isn’t even any kind of comeback to one of Arthur’s vicious chew-outs in their team meetings, Ariadne is downright worried that Eames might be having some sort of burnout crises or something.

* * *

“Arthur, bloody hell, will you stop?”

Ariadne pricks up her ears, stopping in her steps, when she hears the voices from around the corner by the stairwell.

“I’m not doing anything,” Arthur’s dignified answer has Ariadne roll her eyes in private, because _her_ _ass_ he isn’t doing anything. She can only imagine Eames’ face at that.

“I’m fed up with your bullshit. We all are,” Eames is obviously at the end of his patience, like all of them.

Stony silence follows.

“I can’t believe you don’t trust me,” Eames adds, sounding hurt now and Ariadne strains to hear just anything above the shuffle of feet or rustle of clothes, when:

“Ariadne.”

Arthur’s voice is far too terse and she knows she has been caught, biting her lip when she does step around the corner, giving the two men in the corridor, turning around to look at her, her best innocent smile.

“Am I interrupting something?” she wonders and Eames at least manages the ghost of a grin at her shit. Arthur just glares in a tired kind of way and then grabs after Eames’ wrist, pushing open the door to the stairwells and tugging the alpha along. “Ta,” Eames’ gives a small wave of goodbye and Ariadne listens to their retreating steps, their voices picking up again, but being muffled by the door falling shut.

* * *

She doesn’t sleep well that night – it’s common. Yusuf had explained these sort of side effects of using somnacin, so she knows there is little to do about it, besides dragging yourself out of bed and hoping the line in front of the coffee shop won’t be too fucking long. She doesn’t do dream share for a living, so it mostly only costs her sleep while on jobs and a few days afterwards, when the repeated use of the drug is wiring her body up. It’s annoying nevertheless.

It’s unsurprising to see Arthur already in the office, typing away on his laptop. He has always been the first at work. At least he isn’t the last to leave anymore, because usually Eames drags him out at a reasonable hour.

She’s still pissed at him, in a way, for being a colossal _dickhead_ to her, so she just grunts in greeting and makes her way over to her own desk, flooded with 3D models of their two level dream.

Arthur looks up briefly, but turns back to his own work, which annoys her even more, because they aren’t like this, usually. Putting her cup down and pulling out a breakfast bagel, she sits down heavily, letting her bag dumb to the ground.

She resolutely does not smile when she sees Arthur standing up and walking over to her, grabbing after a desk chair on his way and dragging it with him. Turning it around so the backrest is facing her, he sinks down, straddling it and propping his arms up, resting his chin there. She turns her own chair towards him to signalize she is okay with talking, but her arms are crossed.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you yesterday,” he tells her.

“No, you shouldn’t have,” she agrees. The way he so casually choses to sit, like a sixth-grader thinking himself cool, makes her relax, too. Arthur only sprawls around like that when he is comfortable with his environment (or to try and assert dominance) and she likes to think he is comfortable with her, even when they’re pissed at each other.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t nice,” Arthur adds, his thumb scratching against his nose briefly as he looks to the side, lifting his brows and sighing. He’s paler than usual, Ariadne notices and she uncurls her arms to grab after her coffee and offer him a sip. He doesn’t really need it – Ariadne saw the cup on his own desk, but he still reaches out and the ghost of a smile flickers over his lips. Apology accepted.

“Talk to me,” Ariadne says, leaning back in her chair as she observes him. He hasn’t slept well, if the shadows under his eyes are any indication, but probably for different reasons than her. Ariadne wants to help, really, but if she doesn’t know what the problem is, there is little she can do.

He hesitates, cup still against his lips, and for a moment it looks like he is going to say something, but the minutes tick by, while he lowers the cup again and stares at the white plastic lit quietly. Ariadne isn’t the most patient person, but sometimes you have to wait with Arthur.

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” he chooses to say then, taking another sip, before handing it back to her.

“Yeah, I noticed,” she replied, putting the cup to the side and continuing to wait for him to elaborate, but he just stares at some spot on the ground.

“You don’t want Eames on the job,” she adds, trying not to sound too much like pushing.

He scoffs, mouth pulling into a small, gritty grin for a moment. “It’s complicated.”

She swallows the annoyed sound before it can leave her throat, because it really isn’t. “It’s because of Sharim?” it’s not really a question, but she makes it sound like one for his sake.

She realizes it was probably the wrong thing to say, because of the way his shoulders tense, a pinched expression taking place on his face.

“Are you jealous or something?”, because when in Rome-

“No,” Arthur’s answer is immediate and he sounds genuine. At his slightly bewildered and mildly offended expression, she just lifts her shoulders and stretches out her palms in a –well, you tell me- kind of way, giving him an expectant stare.

He scoffs again and looks away, one hand brushing over his slicked back hair. “It’s hard to explain-“, he starts and at her irritated noise he shakes his head and elaborates: “No, you don’t get it. I’m just… reacting to him, that’s the problem”.

“So, you’re saying it is Sharim’s fault?”

“What? No, Eames.”

“It’s Eames’ fault?”

Arthur scrunches up his nose in annoyance and grunts, shaking his head. “Yes- No. In a way. He is… He is acting weird and it makes _me_ act weird”.

Ariadne squints, not really getting where Arthur is going with this, but at least she can agree that Eames has been acting strange. “I mean, he is kinda… quiet at the moment,” she concedes.

Arthur looks at her and snorts humorlessly, “That’s one way to describe it. He is completely off-kilter and it’s because of that guy and it just… It rubs me the wrong way. I-…” he trails off and heaves a long suffering sigh, “I don’t like seeing him like this,” he admits quieter than before, as if it’s some kind of awful secret to share. Men talking about their feelings, a long suffering essay, written by her inner feminist.

“Do you know why he is like this?” she asks, and if the way Arthur curls and uncurls his fingers and bares his teeth briefly, staring at the ground, is anything to go by, she’d say he _definitely_ knows why.

“They’re slightly compatible,” he grunts after a pause and Ariadne does a double take then, because “What?”

Arthur looks up to her with a mean smile that looks like he wants to pull Sharim’s nails out with pinchers and make him eat them like chips.

“They’re- what are the odds of that? That’s like-“

“A 0.0083 % chance, taking only the population into account and no other factors,” Arthur interrupts her with a dry laugh that’s not amused at all.

She whistles, eyes wide and leans back in her chair. “You really like numbers. Okay. Wow. Now I’m impressed you’re being so civilized,” she admits and he gives her a small glare for that, but doesn’t disagree.

“I’m not jealous,” he repeats with a trademark eye roll. “We’re bonded. I know Eames is not going to run off with someone else”. He sounds as if he knows that he is a 12 while Sharim, nearing his fifties with grey hair, scratches a five, maybe.

Ariadne lifts a brow at that attitude. “And why are you being such a dick, then?” she challenges, which has him deflate a bit, the little arrogant peacock.

“I already said it, it’s because of Eames,” he shrugs one shoulder, which is such a weird gesture for him to make, because Ariadne can’t recall the last time she saw him do that. He is so tense at the moment, all his movements are calculated and probably deadly.

When Ariadne keeps looking at him expectantly, he hesitantly continues, sounding frustrated in a way she hasn’t heard him before:

“I can’t explain it to you. You wouldn’t be able to understand and Eames doesn’t understand it, either, because you’re not like me.” He gestures subtly to himself, fingertips touching his waistcoat where his heart is. “It’s instinct. And I don’t _want_ to act on it, but I can’t suppress it the whole time. It’s not like I can take pills for everything I feel. He is acting weird and it triggers … something in me. He is uncomfortable and I know the reason and I want to protect him from it”.

He sighs, raking a hand through his hair again and Ariadne needs all her willpower so her expression doesn’t thaw into commiseration.

“And he thinks I’m not trusting him,” Arthur continues, his brows drawing together in anger, “He doesn’t understand and of course he jumps to conclusions. He thinks he always knows how people tick, because ‘he’s a forger, it’s his job to know how people think’ and he gets pissed when I tell him his observation is wrong.”

“I mean, if you don’t give him anything to work with, he kinda has to draw his own conclusions, doesn’t he?” she carefully remarks and for a moment Arthur looks like he might snap back, but then he just deflates again, shoulders sagging a little.

He really looks tired and Ariadne wonders how many nights he has been awake already, maybe even thinking about exactly this topic. It must drive him nuts. She wonders how much energy it costs him not to go postal every time Sharim and Eames are in a room together.

Sure, Arthur is vicious and he can dish out like anyone asked for seconds. But he is also polite and restricted, normally, always holding himself in check. His anger is always pointed and most of the time well deserved (she factors out his behavior towards Eames here, because that’s not really counting in). She knows that he works hard on himself for that, because usually omegas can be quite destructive in their aggression and people mostly just condone it or at least tolerate it.

“What am I supposed to tell him? He will just get defensive when I say it’s because of how he acts around the other,” Arthur mutters, rubbing his right eyebrow. Ariadne hums thoughtfully, reaching for her coffee again and taking a sip, even though the liquid is lukewarm by now.

“I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t mind hearing that you want to protect him,” she theorizes and delights a little in the way Arthur averts his eyes, obviously embarrassed at having told her that detail.

“He’ll think I’m condescending him,” he replies sourly, but Ariadne just gives a thoughtful noise.

“I don’t know about that, to be honest. _You_ might feel like that?” Arthur gives an –obviously, duh- kind of grunt, “I don’t know if Eames would, though,” she admits, and while Arthur just looks at her doubtfully, she shrugs and continues: “I mean, he probably doesn’t have people thinking he needs protection all that often?”

Eames is a pretty big guy (‘an absolute unit’ is Ariadne’s favorite descriptive noun phrase for him). He can sucker punch people to the ground without effort. And he is clever, sophisticated and charming on top of his physics and his alpha status. People normally wouldn’t assume he needs anyone to protect him from anything, even less so from some fifty year old 5 feet something tall guy.

Arthur snorts at that and he looks to the side, eyes thawing a bit, which makes him look so much younger for a moment.

“You should talk, though, seriously. I don’t like it when you guys are fighting,” she adds and takes the small glare it elicits with grace.

“Look at you, nurturing beta you are,” Arthur retorts after a pause and the corners of his mouth are twitching. She laughs, rolling her eyes in a mock-imitation of him. “Oh, fuck off, Arthur,” she grins and he chuckles silently, nodding to himself, “You’re right. We have a talk-rule for a reason”.

“A talk-rule?”

“Yeah, talking about things. We don’t want a repetition of last time, so ... Talk-Rule,” Arthur huffs, but he doesn’t actually sounds as if he really minds.

“S’a good rule,” she tells him and means it.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think. I am not completely done with the second part through Arthur's POV, so I would love to hear your thoughts. I am contemplating how to wrap it up, whether to write it out completely or letting it a little more open ended.


End file.
